


not the same place we've been before

by astahfrith



Series: you've got a difference to make [2]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: (unexpected kindness), Acts of Kindness, Dark Age, Developing Relationship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Other, warlord era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:14:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26052487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astahfrith/pseuds/astahfrith
Summary: Hellion finds Idran in a moment of vulnerability, and something about their relationship changes.
Relationships: Guardian/Guardian (Destiny), Nonbinary Guardian/Nonbinary Guardian
Series: you've got a difference to make [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1816111
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	not the same place we've been before

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gileonnen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gileonnen/gifts).



> _this the same place_   
>  _no, not the same place_   
>  _this is the same place, love_   
>  _no, not the same place we've been before_
> 
> —"gravity," vienna teng

Finally, when their Light is drained to bitter dregs and the clearing is almost unrecognizable in its devastation, Idran collapses to the ground in the middle of it all and screams themselves hoarse into their knees, hands fisted tightly in their hair. 

When they finally stop, their throat feels like they swallowed shattered glass, and they don’t feel even a little better. The memories start to creep up and they curl into themselves a little tighter, swallowing hard on the bile that wells up.

After several long moments, they feel a hesitant tug at their Light, the shimmer of sound as Isla transmats in. They don’t look up, and there is silence for another long space, before they feel the tingle of a Scan lattice on their skin, and then the familiar swell of Light that means Isla is about to heal them.

“Leave it,” they say hoarsely, and the Light subsides for a moment, but not completely.

“Idran — “ Isla starts to say, careful but on the verge of upset.

“I said leave it, Isla,” they say, harsher than they meant to, but they can’t bring themselves to feel guilty right now. Isla falls quiet, and her Light fades out.

The pain is grounding them, keeping them tethered to this present moment rather than spiraling off into the stress and the fear and the anxiety, just waiting for them to give an inch so they can take a mile. They swallow hard. 

“...I should have known,” they say eventually into the quiet between them and Isla, barely audible.

“Idran —“ Isla starts to say, again, this time more obviously upset.

“I should have known, Isla,” they say again, louder, finally looking up at their Ghost. Her projections are flashing in distress. “Cato was too quiet for too long, I should have known he was going to make a move, I ignored the signs —”

— and the signs were there, in retrospect, and Traveler how they hate themselves right now for not fucking seeing them —

“— and those people paid the price for it.”

They’re trying so damn hard but every time they feel like they’ve found stable ground it keeps crumbling underneath them.

 _“Fuck,”_ they whisper, and drop their head into their hands. Isla makes an unhappy sound and floats down to nudge her way into the bend of one of their arms, trying to offer comfort. They stay like that for a time, just breathing. And then—

“Makani really wasn’t kidding when she said someone was making a ruckus up here, damn.”

Idran starts at the voice and then whirls up and to their feet in one smooth motion. They hear Isla transmat out and Idran grabs a knife with one hand even though it hurts with the mess they made of their hands, tries to call a ball of solar Light with the other—

—only to get only a weak sputter of flame that dies almost immediately because they drained their Light dry. 

It turns out to be unnecessary though. They don’t know whether to feel relieved when they see that the intruder is just Hellion. On one hand, they have so little Light left to them right now they didn’t even feel Hellion approach, so it’s nice it’s not one of their _real_ enemies.

On the other hand, Idran doesn’t have the energy to deal with Hellion’s particular brand of mockery and devil-may-care right now.

Hellion, for Hellion’s part, is just emerging from the treeline. The Exo jumps easily across one of the larger craters and lands in one of the few relatively clear spaces. Hellion makes a sound somewhat like a whistle as Hellion looks around, taking in the full extent of the devastation. “What did the trees and the ground ever do to you, sweetheart?” Hellion asks.

“What are you doing here?” Idran asks in lieu of answering, lowering their knife, but not sheathing it.

“I was looking for you, actually,” Hellion says, bemused. “To trade some intel. But then like I said, Makani said someone was throwing around a ridiculous amount of Light out in the forest, so I decided to check it out. Make sure no suspicious characters were up to anything nefarious. But lucky me, it’s just you.”

“I’m not a suspicious character to you? That’s news to me,” Idran says, trying for dry and almost, almost making it. 

“Depends on the day,” Hellion says carelessly, shrugging, and then hops over another crater, a little closer to Idran. It makes Idran tense up again, which pulls at their aching muscles and the various gashes they didn’t let Isla heal, which they might be regretting.

“Seriously, though, what the fuck happened here?” Hellion says as Hellion gets close enough to get a good look at Idran. “You’re a damned mess, sweetheart.”

“None of your fucking business,” Idran says, short. On the short list of people Idran gives even a modicum of trust, Hellion is the last person they want to talk to about any of this.

“Uh, I think it’s a little bit my business if you’re out here draining yourself until you don’t even have enough Light left to light a match, let alone sense me coming, sweetheart,” Hellion says. “What if it hadn't been me?”

“Yes, I’m sure you’re very concerned for my wellbeing,” Idran says, sarcastic, ignoring the way Hellion’s words mirror their own thoughts. They also don’t bother protesting Hellion calling them ‘sweetheart,’ as much as the subtle mockery grates right now. They’ve learned the hard way it just makes Hellion do it more, just to rile them up. They decide to change the subject. “You said something about intel?”

Hellion doesn’t answer, just tilts Hellion’s head at Idran, staring at them for a long moment. Idran shifts uncomfortably beneath that bright, penetrating gaze and draws themselves up to say something sharp to get it off them, but they don’t get the chance.

“Is this about Stenton?” Hellion asks, and hums in something like triumph when Idran can’t hide the flinch. “Thought so,” Hellion says, prowling a little closer. “Heard about that one. Have a little info about how it all went down, too, but seriously, sweetheart, Cato’s territory is so miniscule that taking Stenton over almost doubled it. It’s hardly worth getting this worked up about one tiny village with zero tactical worth—“

Idran, already on a razor thin edge, feels fury blaze in their chest and before they know what they’re doing, they have a fist twisted in Hellion’s cloak and their knife pressed firmly against Hellion’s throat. 

Hellion goes very still, optics dilated to pinpoints in surprise. Idran’s harsh breathing echoes between them.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Idran says, low and furious and absolutely deadly, “Talk to me about what those peoples’ lives were worth.”

They might be shaking, they’re not sure. They see Hellion’s eyes wander to their hands, the bloody scrapes and darkening bruises, and don't know what to make of the look that shadows Hellion’s face. All they know is that after a long moment, Hellion raises Hellion’s hands in surrender.

It would be so easy for Idran to kill Hellion right now, and part of them wants to, but then they think about all the dead people in Stenton who stood no chance against Cato’s greed and tried to fight back anyway and lost everything for it, and feel bile rise up again.

All the fury goes out of Idran in a rush, leaving just the grief; grief and exhaustion and a hollow ache in their chest. They lower their knife and shove Hellion backwards and then turn away, scrubbing a hand down their face.

“...sorry,” Hellion says when the silence between them begins to drag.

Idran snorts humorlessly. “I’m sure,” they say, dry as dust with a twist of scorn. “Send your intel over comm,” they say then, short. “I’ll look at it later.”

 _Isla, can you manage a transmat back to base for us?_ they think, not waiting for Hellion’s response. They hiked far into the forest, not wanting to be around people, and they might be too far from the base’s transmat beacons with the amount of Light left between them and Isla. But they can’t stay here forever, as appealing as the prospect is. They have meetings to call and intel to gather and plans—and contingency plans—to make, because if they know anything about the other Warlord, Cato won’t stop with Stenton. He’s the definition of the old saying about inertia—an object in motion wants to stay in motion. Stenton was just the beginning.

 _Maybe,_ Isla thanks back. _I can just barely sense one of the beacons, it would be too dangerous to attempt with just the one, but I can probably tie it to another beacon to boost the signal, it’s just a matter of getting them to link when I can’t actually sense any of the others_ —

Any response Idran might have made is cut off by a hand landing on their shoulder. They jerk and attempt to turn, bringing the knife they still haven’t sheathed back up, but Hellion _—_ because of course it’s Hellion—grabs their wrist and twists it just enough to make Idran drop it.

Idran grits their teeth and goes for a leg sweep. They didn’t want a fight, but if Hellion’s starting one, then they’ll certainly fucking finish it. But Hellion dodges it and twists Idran’s wrist a little further, and the pain distracts them long enough for Hellion to get ahold of their other wrist with Hellion’s other hand.

Idran brings a knee up, going for Hellion’s gut as they attempt to windmill their arms, trying to break Hellion’s grip and get Hellion off balance before Hellion can get more of an upper hand, but Hellion holds fast. 

But Hellion doesn’t _do_ anything with the grip—not anything Idran expects, at least. Hellion dodges Idran’s knee with a neat twist of Hellion’s torso, but otherwise doesn’t try to break their wrists, or get them on the ground, or fry them with Light. In fact, the only, the only thing Hellion does is tug Idran closer, until they’re nearly chest to chest—

—and then Hellion wraps Hellion’s arms around Idran’s shoulders, pulls their entire bodies flush, and goes still.

Idran goes still too, taken aback, because unless they’re fucking hallucinating Hellion has pulled them into...

...a hug?

What the fuck?

Idran sits with that thought for a few seconds, trying to find a different, more realistic explanation, but then Hellion tightens Hellion’s hold a little and shit, Hellion really is hugging them.

 _What the fuck_?

Idran’s arms slowly lower to hang by their sides as they attempt to process this. Sure, the two of them have been having sex off and on for a few months now, but those occasions have been as much a fight as any other part of their relationship. Nothing about them—or the rest of said relationship—is affectionate or tender; their encounters still end with one of them dead as often as not. 

So Idran really doesn’t know what the fuck to do with this. But Hellion doesn’t seem to be planning to let go any time soon.

“...What the fuck are you doing?” Idran finally asks with no small amount of bewilderment.

“Holding you, sweetheart, what does it look like?” Hellion says wryly, looking up at Idran. “If you want me to stop, I will, but I don’t think you do. Imagine it’s someone else doing it, if I’m so objectionable. But you looked like you needed it.”

Idran’s first instinct is to deny it, but they find that they...can’t. As the seconds stretch on, Idran is faced with the knowledge that, as much as it pains them to admit it, Hellion is right. There’s a part of them that wants to pull away, a part that is yelling loudly about displaying any sort of weakness. But that part is rapidly being smothered by the simple knowledge that this feels...good. It feels so fucking terrifyingly good to have someone’s arms around them right now. Even if those arms are Hellion’s. 

Hellion’s arms tighten even more, and Idran’s chest feels tight all of the sudden too. When _was_ the last time someone held them like this? Hugged them just because it looked like they needed it? They don’t remember. In fact, the more they think about it, the more they don’t think it’s even happened in this lifetime. It’s not like anyone else in their life would dare. As kind as they are to their people, they still maintain a careful distance. The same with the Risen loyal to them, even those who are actually loyal to their cause, like Yasmin, and not to their threats or their money. Obvious attachments make people very dead, very fast. 

Maybe Hellion has some sort of ulterior motive that is only going to end in pain for Idran. But right now it feels good, and the fact remains that Hellion, of all people, is the one who noticed that Idran needed this, after catching them with their guard down just _once._

So, for once, Idran decides to shove that loud part of their brain down, and let themselves take the comfort being offered while they can. Tentatively, they bring their arms up to wind around Hellion’s waist. Hellion goes a little still but doesn’t say anything, so Idran slowly tightens their hold a bit. After a pause, Hellion mirrors them, clearly deliberately telegraphing Hellion’s movements as Hellion lowers Hellion’s head to rest Hellion’s chin on Idran’s shoulder.

That tight feeling in Idran’s chest gets worse, and looking around the clearing to try and distract themselves doesn’t help. It just reminds them of what happened.

Traveler, they’re so fucking tired.

Without making any conscious decision, Idran finds themselves sagging into Hellion’s hold, dropping their face against the Exo’s shoulder. Hellion jerks, clearly surprised and possibly somewhat alarmed by the sudden surrender. Idran can’t really bring themselves to care.

After a long moment, they feel Hellion bring one of Hellion’s hands up. Idran tenses a bit, but all Hellion does with it is hesitantly run it through Idran’s hair. “Hey,” Hellion says after a pause, softer than Idran has heard from Hellion before. In fact, Hellion sounds almost _gentle._ “Hey, it’s alright. You’re alright.”

It’s really not. They’re really not. Idran finds themselves clinging to the words anyway, and clinging to Hellion too as a lump starts to form in their throat. Hellion holds them tighter, running their other hand down Idran’s back, murmuring “You’re alright” into Idran’s ear again. Idran shudders, and is horrified to feel their eyes start to burn. Is this really all it takes to make them crack? The least kindness from someone they fight to the death as often as they fuck?

Idran blinks hard, but it doesn’t help. They can feel the wetness gathering behind their eyelids. They realize they’ve started trembling, and they try to stop, try to stop _all_ of it, but they can’t.

If Hellion feels the dampness against Hellion’s shoulder or feels the trembling, Hellion doesn't say anything. Instead Hellion slides the hand in Idran’s hair back up and curls it over the back of their neck, thumb digging in at the base of Idran’s skull and rubbing in slow, firm circles. Idran squeezes their eyes shut, bringing a fist up to their mouth. Hellion whispers a soft _ssssssh_ in their ear, fingers tracing the curve of Idran’s skull and their throat, up and down. Hellion presses Hellion’s other thumb into the small of Idran’s back and then slowly draws it up their spine, echoing the slow circles of its counterpart the whole way, soothing.

It all just makes Idran tremble harder. A small noise escapes them before they can stop it, a quiet keen of grief and want, and it makes Idran go even stiller than before, muscles seizing up in anxiety. Hellion pauses for a second, and then murmurs “Work with me” and pushes Idran backwards. Idran is confused but goes, lets Hellion navigate both of them across the clearing. Just as Idran is about to ask what the fuck Hellion is doing, again, though, their back hits something—a tree, they realize, that must have escaped the rain of devastation.

Hellion crowds Idran against the tree, pressing close, letting them feel the warmth and closeness of Hellion’s body, Hellion’s touch firm and more grounding than pain has ever been for Idran. 

It feels _so good._ Idran makes the same noise again without meaning to. It breaks at the end, and finally Idran stops trying to hold back. They clutch Hellion as tight as they can, and Hellion tightens Hellion’s arms around Idran in return to just shy of bruising, which is what Idran wanted. When Idran starts shaking again, harder than before, Hellion turns Hellion’s head and presses Hellion’s lips against their throat, murmuring “It’s alright, sweetheart,” again. 

(This time, there’s no trace of mockery in the endearment.)

It still isn’t alright, and it still won’t be, not for a long time. There’s still so much to do, and Idran doesn’t know how this is going to change their relationship with Hellion. But they feel a little less like they’re going to fall apart, and that’s not nothing. So they lean their head against Hellion’s shoulder again, and decide they can stay like this a little longer.

**Author's Note:**

> How do I keep finishing fics for these two! We just don't know! I love them so much. The Dark ages are really rough, but they're finally starting to view each other in a different light. They both really need a lot of hugs. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed. <3


End file.
